


The Bone Vulture

by Drosera_Sundews



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, Superheroes, Superpowers, confusing time skips, mentions of death and violence but nothing graphic, possibly too confusing even??, spiritual mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drosera_Sundews/pseuds/Drosera_Sundews
Summary: writing-prompt-s: You have but one superpower, the ability to completely heal the injuries and ailments of those around you, and yet you have become the world’s most notorious supervillain.“I will need a little something in return, of course,” whispered the bone vulture.





	

“I will need a little something in return, of course,” whispered the bone vulture.

It was Wednesday, the nineteenth of December. He’d been sitting in the hospital for hours.

Nurses had come and gone, he’d tried not to be in their way but had ultimately failed, he feared. Not that it would have mattered. There was little the nurses could do at this point.

It had gone dark by now. Only the far orange silhouettes of lanterns could be seen through the hospital’s small windows, shrouded in thick evening mist. Most of the nurses were gone, most of the patients were sleeping. Guests had left, but he hadn’t let them shoo him out. Not in what could be his son’s last moments. 

“He’s truly a beautiful little boy.”

His head shot up. They weren’t a nurse, that was for certain. No nurse would dress like that, in grey robes, like the mist outside. Their head covered by a mask, dark leather with bits of red and orange looping past the dark holes where their eyes should be. They were leaning casually against one of the empty beds. 

He would have been scared. He would have questioned how they’d made their way into the room. But grief and exhaustion weighted him down, pressed on his every muscle. He lowered his head again, to where his hand was entwined with a smaller, paler one. 

“Yes, yes he is.” 

He heard them move closer, their breathing sounding oddly loud from under their mask. 

“I take it you’re one of those superheroes then?” 

They turned their head, leather beak in stark contrast to the harsh light that fell through the door. The hallway was still light, people were moving through it sporadically. If he called for help, someone was bound to come. 

“Something like that,” they confirmed. “Phoenix, you might have heard of me.”

~oOo~ 

That same night, the nineteenth of December. A young, perpetually exhausted office worker, came home in his apartment. Greeted his girlfriend and started on that night’s dinner, which was to be ravioli. He cooked while listening to her stories, about how she’d found yet another buyer for her budding ICT company. He in return, told her about his day at the office.  
Unbeknown to his girlfriend, he’d not been spending that day at the office. 

~oOo~

It’s been six years since the first of them had shown up.  
  
Held to be a huge hoax at first, they’d gotten media attention along with large amounts of disbelief.  
  
Teleportation, telekinesis, enhanced strength or senses, aura-reading, you name it.  
  
Ridiculed at first, it took a long time for anyone to accept them. Even for themselves to accept it. But when the first of their numbers started to overcome their shock and started to actually use their newly acquired powers, the media’s scorn soon backfired. After all, you can’t keep ridiculing a hoax if it lowers your city’s crime rates, stops a bridge from collapsing, saves dozens of people from a devastating earthquake.  
  
That first wave contained only about fifthy people. At least, that’s what was thought. Only fifty people ever made it into the glaring spotlights of media attention. Loudly proclaiming that no, they were not magicians! These were not tricks!  
  
They’d made a mistake of course, by doing that. There was a reason the next few waves all kept their true identity safely under wraps. After all, it’s in a humans nature to exploit anything that could give them power. And so they did.  
  
Very little is still heard of those first few. 

~oOo~

It’s been six years since the first of them had shown up.  
  
It’s been four and a half years since a young woman, aburn hair and brown eyes, had laid her hands upon her injured leg and watched with shock as the wound knit itself together and faded, leaving only the barest hint of a scar. She’d gotten up. Brushed the dirt off her clothes and continued walking home. Convincing herself it had just been her imagination. It wasn’t.  
  
It’s only been little over four months since a young, perpetually exhausted office worker woke up in bed one morning feeling the weirdest sense of pressure right below his shoulder blades. He too thought it was nothing, at first.  
  
And as of now it will only be four more days until this very office worker, once again running a long day, will take a sip of barely-warm machine coffee and not notice the slightly tingly aftertaste that certainly had not been there before.  
  
Insomnia and long working days sure do take a toll on ones perception.  
  
Soon he’ll be coughing up blood, two more hours till he’s in the hospital.  
  
Life is unfair like that sometimes. 

~oOo~

“Have you come to heal him?”  
  
The bird scoffs. “Unlike some seem to believe, I can’t actually resurrect people from the grave. I can however heal them before they make it there. Thus, I’m running on a tight schedule.”  
  
They briefly paused, glancing out of the window, where thick mist was still swirling, obscuring their view over the dark streets. Next, they glanced at the hallway, still brightly lid but empty. For now, they would not be heard.  
  
“Listen closely,” they continued in a slow whisper, “I can not heal your son. At least, not yet. Healing doesn’t come for free. There’s certain… terms and conditions, if you will.”  
  
The man nods, clenched jawed and frowning. “A life for a life, I recon.”  
  
The bird actually has the nerve to chuckle. “Oh sir, what would the use of healing powers be if I had to take lives for it. Don’t worry, it’s nothing nearly as drastic.”  
  
“Okay, I’m listening.”

~oOo~

“A life for a life, I recon.”  
  
It’s been little over two years ago since those exact words were spoken by a young woman, aburn hair and dark brown eyes, who’d been pushed down on blood streaked knees in front of a bed with a gun against the crown of her head.  
  
The man holding the gun just grins, “You’ve got it, sweetie. You’d best work with us here, or we’re going to find out if you can actually rise from your own ashes.” A twisted grin.  
  
The man on the bed just grumbles. Too weak to do much of anything. He still reeks of the smoke that probably killed him. That and urine. And the skin deep stench of disease.  
  
“P-promise to delete the footage,” she whimpers, “please. Promise not to go after my family.”  
  
“You’re in no position to make demands, kid!” The large man growls.  
  
“Let her be,” the other man’s voice is barely a whisper, but the other immediately shuts up and looks away. He doesn’t dare challenge this person’s authority, even when said person is on the brink of death.  
  
“Heal me, little bird,” the man whispers, “and you will go free. You can go back to sneaking into hospitals and healing little kids. For now, that should be enough.” He manages to sit up slightly and smile, a sickly pale face bearing a snake-fanged grin. His soft words dripping with honey and venom.  
  
Between that and the gun there’s not much else she can do.  
  
The girl cries, quietly, when she lays her hand upon the man’s chest, breathes in deeply, and burns the cancer from his lungs. 

~oOo~

“So he will not die?”  
  
The man is shaking. His eyes shooting from his dying son to the small package clenched in his shaking hands.  
  
“He will not,” the phoenix says, “the man may get severely ill, if the dark power he is carrying has already started corrupting him. If that is the case he will most likely bear the wounds his whole life. But on my word I can promise you, he will not die.”  
  
He looks up at them with large, teary eyes. “He’s my friend, my colleague, I don’t want to hurt him.”  
  
“Noble,” the bird replies, “but look beyond that. He is infected. He carries a horrible power within him and that power will only grow. This,” they gesture to the small vial, “is the only thing that can save him. Just a few drops in his coffee, he will never notice. You will save him.”  
  
The man makes a noise, between a sob and a laugh. “But… it all comes with a price, now doesn’t it?”  
  
The bird chuckles. “I’m afraid so, though I think you have a good deal here. I help save your son’s life, you help me save many others.”  
  
The man looks up at the figure. The leather bird mask with the black eyes stared back, emotionless.  
  
“What if you’re lying,” he whispers, voice barely audible. Hand clenched around the small, dark purple vial. “Like I know what is in here? I may as well poison him!”  
  
They do not reply, instead they rise from their crouched position and quietly step towards the bed. A hand, oddly human, appears from beneath the cloak and tenderly strokes the pale, unconscious boy through his hair.  
  
“Between this and my words there’s not much else you can do, now is there?”

~oOo~

Two days prior a man, slightly disheveled from a long day at the office, and his brother, less disheveled and noticeably excited, had gone to the dump.  
  
It was far from ideal, but at least it was far away from prying eyes. And mostly without obstacles.  
They’d tried the woods before, that had been a bad idea.  
  
“Do you think you’re ready to try a jump from one of the cranes?” the brother says. “You did really good the other day.”  
  
“And almost busted my skull on a rusty crowbar the day before,” The young man replies. “No, I’ll make sure I know how to soar and catch myself before I try anything like that. The broken nose was bad enough, I don’t need a broken leg too.”  
  
“True,” the older brother nods solemnly, “that’d be suspicious.”  
  
The wings appeared not with a woosh, but with an odd crackling sound, like stepping on ice that was a bit too thin. They flared from the young man’s shoulders and shook themselves, stretched after being cramped up in wherever the heck they went when they disappeared. The long limbs looked ghostly. Faintly transparent and emitting a soft, golden light. They didn’t look particularly solid, and the way his younger brother made them appear and disappear on a whim did not work in their favor. The older one however was very well acquainted with how solid those limbs could be, after all the first time he’d seen them he’d been sucker punched in the face by them when he came to his brothers apartment in the middle of the night after some really weird text messages. He’d had to practically restrain the damn things in order to comfort his highly panicked, sobbing baby brother. It’s a miracle he still had all his teeth.  
  
Gaining superpowers could be very stressful at times. Especially if said superpowers burst from your back and were three meters long with massive phantom muscles backing them up.  
  
Seeing his little brother now though, he couldn’t help but feel proud. The wings had really grown on him, literally and figuratively.  
  
“Have you thought of a name yet, by the way?”  
  
“A name?”  
  
“Yeah, you know, a superhero name. You need to keep your identity a secret, remember. I don’t want some supervillain kidnapping me in order to get to you.”  
  
The younger scoffed. “Oh c’mon, what would they want with me. Even if I learn to fly, I won’t exactly be crime fighting material. No super strength or durability. I could probably save people from falling of buildings but like, how often does that happen?”  
  
“So no mask and alias?”  
  
“Nah, I think I’ll be good.”  
  
“If you say so, little bro.”  
  
The younger managed to make it across a full twelve meters that way without so much as brushing the ground. He and his brother were ecstatic.  
  
He still was careful but they both knew he’d gotten the hang of it. He could fall off a building now and live to tell the tale.  
  
Neither of them knew that six day later, those wings would do exactly nothing to save him from the oh so dangerous yet not-suspicious looking barely-warm machine coffee that could have been the end of him. 

~oOo~

It’s been almost two years ago since the attack.  
  
An assassination on a marketplace. Rich man against a not quite as rich man with a gun. A game of power, another chesspiece being swiped off the board.  
  
It hadn’t gone well, civilians had become involved, attacking the shooter. And the shooter had backup. Backup and bullets, of course. Never bring just a single bullet to an assassination.  
  
None of the civilians had superpowers to back them up.  
  
Nine dead, six injured.  
  
Blood.  
  
So much blood.  
  
That night a young woman, aburn hair and dark brown eyes, looked at the news, crying.  
  
Sure, it hadn’t been that man. Not the man who’s lungs she’d purged of their disease. Her first patient over twenty years old since she’d burned the rheumatism from her mother’s joints and convinced herself it wasn’t just her imagination. But it had been his sidekick, the very man who held a gun against her head all those weeks ago. Taking another nine innocent lives with a huge, sneering grin on his face.  
  
A grin he wore because he’d successfully completed a mission for his boss.  
  
A boss who still lived and breathed and laughed his evil laugh from lungs she’d personally cleaned up for him.  
  
All because she’d forgotten to put on a mask when sneaking into the local hospital to heal a few kids from terminal diseases like a good little superhero.  
  
And worst of all she knew they would be back. They knew her name, her face, her family. She was theirs.  
  
She cried.  
  
That night, the Phoenix, benevolent healer of those who would have gone before their time, did not die in fire but was instead doused in water.

~oOo~

Of course, one does not simply kill a firebird. They are not known to make such serious commitments.  
  
Yet it could be argued that whatever bird rose from the phoenix’ sodden ashes was not the same.  
That night, almost two years ago, the phoenix became a vulture. 

~oOo~

Just a few hours prior, a thick evening mist hung over the city. Grim, spooky weather. Low visibility.  
  
A few hours prior, a small boy was hit by a car after crossing the street. He was rushed to the hospital.  
  
No superheroes had come to save him from that car. Life is unfair like that sometimes. 

~oOo~

Four days later, another man was brought to the hospital. While he was carried off one of his colleagues stayed behind in the office to quickly expose of his cup of leftover barely-warm coffee. A pained look on his face. 

~oOo~

“I take it you didn’t wear a mask?”  
  
A shocked gurgle. The man tried to sit up, but it was no use. His slowly dissolving muscles wouldn’t let him and he fell right back down with a pained grunt.  
  
“Don’t bother responding. I know you can’t. I’ve seen this before. This disease. This poison.”  
  
They wore a grey cape and a dark leather mask with orange stripes looping around their dark eyes. Unrecognizable, like a superhero should be.  
  
They came close, standing right next to him, beak but a few inches from his face.  
  
“What was this to you,” they hissed, voice dripping with acid, “was this a joke? Some kind of game? Where these powers merely some silly party trick to show your friends?!”  
  
The man on the bed whined, too far gone to do much of anything else.  
  
“We wear masks for a reason. We have secret identities for a reason. If normal humans don’t come to exploit you, you can damn well be sure that supervillains will! One of them got you. I know. I recognize the poison in your veins.”  
  
They leaned back, breathing deeply. Tears had started to appear in the young man’s eyes. His half paralyzed face taunt with horror, grief, desperation.  
  
They looked at him.  
  
“I am the bone vulture. I come to those who will die.”  
  
The man whined softly.  
  
“To give them another chance to live.”  
  
Wide eyes. A sparkle of hope.  
  
“However, part of you, you will have to let go. The supervillain has seen you know, seen your face. They probably know your name, where you work, who your friends and family are. They thought you’d be a threat and if you were to return to the land of the living they’ll damn well make sure you will never again be a threat. Is that clear.”  
  
The man stiffly nods, pain and determination in his eyes.  
  
“Besides, my healing comes with a price. Certain… terms and conditions, if you will. I am sure you can figure it out.”  
In that moment they appear behind him with the sound of splintering ice. Oddly folded below him on the mattress, the spectral wings look dull, barely shining anymore. Dying like their wielder.  
  
They come forwards, reach out one oddly human hand and trail their fingers through the plumage. Yes, they will do.  
  
“The poison runs deep, but you are strong. I think I can heal you.”  
  
There is the hope again, disgusting.  
  
“I will need a little something in return, of course,” whispers the bone vulture. 

~oOo~

Only but a day later. The boy who was hit by a car is back up on his feet. His parents could not have been happier by his miraculous recovery. Although his dad kept sending him nervous glances when he thought the kid wasn’t looking.  
  
He knew, deep down, that it hadn’t been a superhero that had come to his young son’s aid. 

~oOo~

The child will dream of dark grey vultures for years to come. 

~oOo~

Only but a day later, a young man will return to work.  
  
A party will be held in celebration of his return. Of him beating the mysterious illness that had almost taken his life, suddenly without any warning.  
  
No one suspected the lukewarm cup of coffee that had been so swiftly removed after his collapse.  
  
One man in particular is very, very relieved by his recovery. A good friend and colleague. He’ll help the poor man through his first days, when his muscles are still weak and his body is still sore.  
  
His son had been in the hospital a few days before. He says, with a grin. He’d feared for the worst but was so glad the both of them made it out.  
  
The young man just nods. Oddly silent under the nice treatment. And the other can’t help but notice the way he flinches whenever his back comes into contact with something.  
  
He has a sneaking suspicion this isn’t just some leftover soreness, but rather a deep wound that will never truly heal.  
  
They both know they’ll be in pain for quite a long while, possibly forever. One from loss and one from guilt.  
  
Life is really unfair like that sometimes. 

~oOo~

That day, a lone figure sits on top of one of the highest buildings of the city, taking in the sight.  
  
A dark leather mask ending in a curved beak. Orange stripes looping around the dark, dark eyes. A grey cape, now with dark grey wings to match. Oddly human hands are clasped together in front of them.  
  
Some would still think this is the Phoenix. A young superhero with healing powers that snuck into hospitals on the weekends, to visit the children’s ward.  
  
The Phoenix had a secret identity. A normal woman with a normal name, a normal job, a normal family.  
An achilles heel.  
  
But the Phoenix burned and resurrected. And now it has become the secret identity. The mask to hide the real hero. The mask to hide the vulture.  
  
It was just them now. The phoenix and the bone vulture. The name she was born with was lost with her family. Was burned in phoenix fire when she cut all the ties to her old life.  
  
She’d granted her family the mercy of dying peacefully in their sleep. It was the least they could do.  
  
She, no, they would never be controlled again. They would never heal what was already corrupted.  
Humanity did not deserve such powers.  
  
The wings on their back fluttered. Now dark grey, no longer shining. The bases stained dark red with fake blood, as if the limbs remembered their origin. Funny how powers twist and turn and change depending on who wields them.  
  
They could fly and heal now. That was good. But not good enough. For the serious cleansing they were about to do they needed some more ammo. Some extra aces up their sleeve.  
  
Burning the corruption out of one man’s body was easy, child’s play. Burning the corruption from humanity was bound to be more tricky.  
  
Tricky, but doable. They’d been a firebird after all.  
  
They knew a thing or two about cleansing.

**Author's Note:**

> The writing prompts blog can be found here: http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/154614152962/you-have-but-one-superpower-the-ability-to
> 
> Also thanks to Evangel for proofreading ^^


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